


Not enough

by Amie33



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/pseuds/Amie33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he wonders: how much time do they have?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not enough

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Elodie for the feelings.  
> Thanks to Jenn for her beta.

Sometimes he wonders: how much time do they have? How many days? How many years? How many times will he be able to see her face, to run with her, to hold her hand? How long will he be waiting, thinking of her, remembering her, pushing back their next meeting? How much time before the memories of her fade away?

He’s a time traveler. He is now and today, he is yesterday and always. He crosses the infinity of time like it’s a small walk, standing at the beginning and watching the end in half a second. Life and death are so quick and so slow they are the same, never, always; he turns around and they have disappeared like a candle blown up by the wind, and sometimes he forgets their meaning, he forgets they ever exist. He is standing at the top of everything, running through the source of things, barely tasting them and then he’s gone. Some day he tries to hold on them, understand them, chasing them before they fade away, but he never succeeds. By the time he grabs them and looks at them, they have already changed, aged, turned into dust.

Her, could have been different. She was like him. There was a bit of him and his life in her. A perfect combination, a life so bright he can see it from far away. She had possibilities, infinities, black holes and heavy suns, galaxies and shooting stars. She had seconds, she had years, she had so much time his mind could barely understand it. She would have been his challenge, his start, his end, his ever after. Yes, she could have been, and she _would_ have been. Except she isn’t. Like everything else she has an end, a start, so close to each other he didn’t understand first what they meant. Sometimes he likes to think this is for the best, his birth is at her last breath so when she reached the end he would start all over again. He could almost believe they never stop.

Except he knows it’s a lie. His time with her is short and finite, the book of their story already written and he can’t change a word. He doesn’t know the words, he doesn’t know how many pages they have, how many chapters, how many lines. He is just sure of something: there is a last page, and a last word. The end. _Fin._

He tries to wander in their lives as slow as he could, dying to see her more often but waiting, waiting, waiting until he almost forgets her name, until he forgets the color of her eyes or the sound of her voice. He waits as long as he can before seeing her again, because he knows – he _knows_ – he can wait as long as he wants, the end is still running to him and he can do nothing to stop it, and neither does she.

Sometimes he can’t sleep and he contemplates the infinity they could have, running, twirling, swirling into time and space together. He wouldn’t have been lonely. Everywhere on time and space they would have been his name, and her name, and their names together. They would have been kings, they would have been gods. They would have forgotten how to live and where to go. They would have been mad together, high together; they would have last until the end of time and then make everything start again. And when death would have finally found them, they would have greeted her together, take her together, and travel together beyond, after, always.

Sometimes he wonders: how much time do they have? And he knows. They have years. Centuries. Days. Seconds. It’s all the same.

The time they have, is not enough.

 


End file.
